Category Archives: Aging

Happy 47th birthday, my sweet Ed

Posted on by
Reply

Dearest Ed,

Happy 47th birthday. It’s strange to think that if you lived to now, you’d be three years away from 50 — half a century old. This year as you would know, I celebrated my 40th birthday. I realized that although it’s technically middle aged, I didn’t really “feel” middle aged, if you know what I mean. When we were little, I used to think “40” or “50” were “old.” Now, I sit in my 40.5-year-old body and do not feel old at all. In fact, I feel like I have just started to really live life in the last decade and that I’m only getting started in many ways! So when I think of it from that perspective, it makes me even sadder to know that you aren’t here… because that means that you never really got to begin living a full life. You left us just before you turned 34. I have now lived over seven years longer than you did. That feels quite unfair because it’s not like I did anything to deserve more than you.

I am in San Francisco now. Chris, Kaia, and I stayed at our parents’ place last weekend. We went to visit you at the Columbarium on Sunday. I got annoyed when visiting you because I noticed some internal fingerprints on your niche’s glass, plus some large dust particles that settled inside. So I went into the office to inquire about having it opened for cleaning. The employee who worked there told me that they would charge us $495 (YES, THAT MUCH) to open the niche. I told him that I simply wanted to have it cleaned properly, that I wanted nothing else changed. He said that in 2014, the year after you died, Dignity Memorial took ownership of the Columbarium. Once upon a time, if a family wanted to open a niche to clean or rearrange items inside, they could easily do so and schedule the visit to open and and make changes; no charges or questions asked other than to prove you were family. Now, when you want to do this because of this greedy private equity-like company, they want to charge us almost $500 to do this! This is just utter bullshit. As Chris says, “fuck those fuckers.” The moron who told me this actually had the balls to say to me that since Dignity Memorial took over the Columbarium that service has become “more refined.” No, Dipshit. Service has actually just become greedier, with all this ridiculous nickel-and-diming of grieving families and loved ones who want to have basic, simple things done in memory of their loved ones. To me, there are few things more sick or disgusting than taking advantage of people at their most vulnerable moments in life, and that’s what Dignity Memorial does.

The reason I share this with you is that I honestly wish I didn’t even know what the fucking Columbarium was. I wish you never had to die so that our parents never had to find a resting place for you. I wish I could never have entered that damn place ever. Some people say that the more knowledge you have, the better. This is an area I would be so, so happy to be ignorant to, because all I see when I think of funeral homes and crematoriums is how their owners’ eyes light up with dollar signs at the thought of people constantly dying. Death is inevitable for all of us, right? But when people like you die far too soon, it’s hardly like they care. They’re just happy to collect our dollar bills and make money off our loss of you.

Here are some things I wanted to share with you that I’ve noticed in the last year since being back home. I was actually shocked to go down to the basement and notice that it felt like there was less “stuff” cluttering the rooms than before. Our dad apparently also got rid of my entire Disney VHS collection, all your old VHSs, and CDs. All my old DVDs are gone. So those two shelves flanking the living room mantle are pretty clear (just full of dust, which our mom wants me to clean during this visit). Oddly enough, I don’t even know where the hell my wedding DVD went…?

Chris noticed that funnily enough, there seems to be more alcoholic drinks in the house. I found a bottle of Canadian whisky, a new coffee liqueur, a pumpkin-spiced coffee liqueur, and two types of ready-to-drink margarita mix — standard and even mango! Chris uses that as a little drink for himself to keep him sane while he’s here.

I spent at least four hours vacuuming, dusting, and cleaning multiple areas of the house; after filling the bathroom sink with water and cleaning just our old bedroom, the water turned black. I also had to get a tall step-stool to vacuum up a bunch of cobwebs that lined the living room, dining room, hallways, and our old bedroom. It was not fun, but it seriously needed to be done. And every time I think I am done, I find a new area of one-inch thick dust or yet another cob web to vacuum up. I have lost count of the number of spiders I’ve vacuumed up this visit.

Also, can we talk about your bed for a second? Why the hell did you ever decide to buy a new TWIN SIZED BED for yourself as a GROWN-ASS adult?! Chris slept in it two nights in a row while Kaia and I slept in my old bed, and he had horrible, lingering neck pain for days after. The bed is so tiny; as a grown adult, you can barely move in it! It’s barely even big enough for Kaia to move around, and she’s 4.5! I didn’t understand why you did it then, and I still do not understand it. You always gave yourself too little — too little credit for anything good you did, fewer things than you ever deserved.

A few days before we left for this trip, Chris asked me if I was excited to go home. I looked at him blankly and said, “Meh.” He grimaced and said we go on this trip for me, so if I feel that way, I should question why I still keep going. The truth is that I feel very “meh” about it because San Francisco is a reminder that you are gone from this world, and that hurts my heart every time I think about it. While I feel your loss in New York or anywhere else in the world I am, I feel it the most acutely when I am back home… because that was and is your home. And obviously, I feel “meh” because I know I will inevitably have to deal with our parents’ emotional immaturity, their constant nitpicking and criticism, their endless drama, lack of reasonable rationale, and the eventual and inevitable fights based on a bunch of nothing. I am not “free” here. I always feel restricted here, even as middle-aged adult with a 4.5-year-old child. You were never “free” here. But now you are free.

Kaia is starting kindergarten at a new school in a couple weeks. She’s been asking a lot about you in the last couple months because she is just starting to understand death. She keeps saying on this trip that her JiuJiu used to live here, that he’s my brother, but that he died. And so she doesn’t get to see him. She’s said this a few times now, and a few times I started tearing up. It is a loss that you never got to meet her. It is a loss that she will never get to meet you. And it a loss that I can never see the two of you interact and have any kind of relationship.

Even though our parents obviously drive me crazy, I will say that during this trip, I do enjoy the quick moments of watching them interact with Kaia a lot more. Our mom is now 72, and our dad is now 78. They are getting older, more frail, and more tired. I can see it a lot now. But I can also see they are trying with her. And so you know what — that effort is enough for me now. I’ve made peace that they will never be the parents we needed, nor the maternal grandparents I wish Kaia had. This is okay for me now. It’s no longer a mental struggle.

Maybe I just feel this way because I’ve finally reached an age or the stage of “wisdom” where I’ve just accepted life for what it is. I just let things be the way they are. Even though it’s been over 13 years since you’ve passed, I can still feel your presence in this house every time I enter and exit it. You are still here to me.

Okay, I think it’s time to wind this down and go to sleep. I miss you, Ed. I wish I could see you playing with Kaia here. I know you’d have so much fun playing catch with her and teaching her other games the way you did with me.

I love you. I hope I can see you in my dreams again soon — it’s been quite a while.

With all my love,

Yvonne

Having conversations with AI about your parents and family dynamic

Posted on by
Reply

My esthetician told me the other day that she has a client who uses AI for literally everything in his life. He told her he even uses it for therapy. “Why do I need to pay a therapist when I can chat with Claude or ChatGPT about all my problems?” he asked her. He insisted that ChatGPT gave him not only good, accurate answers, but even prompted him with questions back that really made him think.

“I was like, ‘dude, this is where I draw the line,'” she said she said to him. “You cannot use AI for therapy! It’s just not the same thing!”

I told her I didn’t necessarily think that AI should be used as a replacement for therapy, per se, but I do think that it can help untangle a lot of thoughts, experiences, and opinions you may have, and then synthesize all of those things and make some sense out of it for you to move forward. In fact, I actually did this regarding my parents the other day. I described my dad’s personality, upbringing, and general history, gave specific examples of (what I perceive to be) atrocious things he’s said and done to my brother and me, and this is what it responded with (much later down the line):

<start>

I would think about your father’s story as having two layers.

The older layer is probably his long-established personality:

early neglect → radical self-sufficiency → difficulty depending on people → poor emotional communication → criticism instead of teaching → anger when others violate his expectations → retreat into solitude → limited emotional intimacy.

And now there may be a newer late-life layer affecting organization, discarding, motivation, or executive functioning.

One of the saddest consequences of this type of upbringing is that a child can become extraordinarily competent at surviving while never learning the skills required for intimacy. Your father may genuinely have believed that providing materially and leaving his children to become independent was adequate parenting because his own benchmark for parental care was so extraordinarily low.

He could look at his childhood—poverty, infestation, working parents, almost no supervision—and conclude:

“My children had food, a decent home, and opportunities I didn’t have. I did well.”

Meanwhile, you could grow up in the same household thinking:

“Why didn’t my father teach me anything, talk to me, encourage me, or want to know me?”

Both perceptions can coexist. His history explains how he could have such a limited conception of fatherhood; it doesn’t erase what you and your brother missed.

And that may be the most useful framework for understanding him: he gave you more material security than he received, but emotionally he may have transmitted much of the deprivation he grew up with.

<end>

I read this, and I realized this is the same conclusion I came to in my mid-twenties to make sense of my dad. I always knew he loved us and was concerned about us; he just had zero idea how to show us he loved us. He is just so terrible with words. He was emotionally illiterate, yet he obviously provided for us and never let us be without food, clothing, supplies, and shelter. Ed and I always knew we grew up with a million times more than what our dad grew up with. About a year before Ed died, I tried to explain this to him. I even told him that our dad wanted to make sure to save extra money to provide for Ed… because our dad wasn’t confident that he would be financially self sufficient after his future passing. Ed was shocked and didn’t believe me; he was always hurting with our dad because he got the worst of our dad. Our dad was purely brutal with him every chance he got. And Ed couldn’t handle it and just concluded that he was an awful person who never should have been a dad. But I said to him at the time that our dad has no idea we think what we think of him … because from his perspective, he thinks, “My kids have more material stuff than I ever dreamt of growing up; I did a good job as a father. What more could they want?” Ed could not wrap his head around this and said that was insane.

Frankly, I have a hard time understanding that pretty much every single time I have a difficult or annoying interaction with my dad, or every time I overhear him say something that I think is just unnecessarily harsh or bitchy. All the context and personal history matters, but sometimes I just wonder: does simple human decency need to be taught? I understand all of this academically, but to have to deal with it every time we’re together is just painful, exhausting, and not even remotely enjoyable.

Therapy nor conversations with AI about tough topics like this will “solve” any problems you have. But I do think it’s good to be able to allow AI to summarize all these experiences, emotions, histories, etc., in a way that allows you to make sense of it all… and potentially help you make peace with how you move forward with these tough relationships.

The baby tooth that persisted… and finally fell out today

Posted on by
Reply

Dear Tooth 29,

We were together for so long, you and I. I got warned by my childhood dentist that if I were the average human, you’d stay with me and your opposite friend on the left side of my mouth, Tooth 20, until max, age 30, and then you’d both fall out. But you persisted! You never showed a smidgen of weakness or looseness… I thought that maybe, just maybe we could be together forever. Well, that was until tooth 30 decayed during pregnancy, requiring a root canal. And the root canal so close to you destabilized you, and alas, you became loose. That was in May 2022. Today is August 9, 2026. Since your foundation was destabilized, you stuck with me for another four years and three months. I kept thinking that you’d peace out sooner than that, but no, you tried to be as loyal as possible! I knew the end was coming very close when you completely uprooted on the inside of my mouth, and I could feel your teeny tiny roots sticking out every time I ran my tongue on the inside of my bite. So, I finally brushed my teeth tonight. And given you were squished in and not moving, I pushed you from the outside, and POP! Up you came! I loosened you from being wedged between the two neighboring teeth and out you came. A little blood came out, but not too much. The wound is fresh, still red, with a little hole there. But the tiring anticipation of waiting for you to finally fall out… is finally over. It was a bit anticlimactic, if I do say so myself. I had hoped that you would come out when I was in the comfort of my own home, maybe after flossing or brushing. And this is exactly what happened. A few weeks ago, I was scared that you might fall out at a work dinner — too much anxiety and stress there!

We had a long run together. I’m proud of how long you lasted. All dentists who have ever looked at my mouth feel the same. And well, Tooth 20 is still going strong, hanging out on the left side, the opposite side of my mouth from where you lived, firmly rooted in with its tiny roots in my gum tissue. I hope you will send it your best wishes to stay with me until my last breath. I really don’t need two holes in my gums, do I?

As for where you are now, I told Kaia that once you finally fell out that she’d be the first to find out and see you. And I kept my word. Chris finished reading bedtime stories to her this evening, and she asked me to come over for a good night hug and kiss. When I came over, I told her I had something interesting to show her. So I opened my mouth for Kaia to see. A big smile slowly crept over her face: “Your tooth fell out!” she whispered loudly. “Where is it?” I had you in the palm of my hand for her to see. She promptly picked you up, stared at you intently, and then tucked you under her pillow.

“My tooth!” she shrieked with joy. Well, sort of.

Now, she is wondering whether the tooth fairy will come visit her. I insisted that the tooth fairy would pay her a visit only when one of her own teeth fell out; she couldn’t lie and say this tooth was hers, even though it is a baby tooth! The tooth fairy will know!

Thanks for an amazing 40 years together. Okay, so maybe you came in when I was 1-ish year old and so we actually had 39ish years together if we had to be more precise, but the point is… thanks for sticking around for way longer than anyone thought you would. I will eternally be grateful. And Kaia is very, very grateful now to be taking good care of you under her pillow as she sleeps.

Sincerely,

Yvonne

Mourning for a version of a person that is gone

Posted on by
Reply

I was at lunch yesterday with my friend, telling her about the situation with my aunt. I told my friend that when I was little, I was obsessed with my aunt. Ultimately, my aunt is the reason that I love baking because she was the person who spent quality time in the kitchen with me. She’s the person who always proactively asked me about what I was learning in school, what I was interested in, and actually wanted to know me for me. Although my aunt is genuinely a good person and always had been, I know part of her love and interest for me was because she looked at me as the daughter she never had. She had three sons when each time, she really wanted a daughter. So I got all the cute hand sewn dresses and hand knit clothes she intended for her own. I got showered with endless girly gifts and jewelry that she would have loved for her own daughter. But once I got older, and once she came back from being away in Boston for a number of years, she was almost a different person. She officially converted to being a Jehovah’s Witness. Her main concern was the congregation and her “brothers and sisters.” And since at that time, I was a pre-teen/teen, I was changing a lot, too. At that point, I was finally seeing with greater clarity all the dysfunction in my family with eyes wide open. I also realized that at this point, she rarely wanted to acknowledge anything that was ever wrong. I could never have a deep conversation with her. Maybe it was always the case that this was impossible, but when I was in elementary school, that never would have even entered my mind given I was so young and immature. But it always made me sad that we could never have a real conversation together. It was impossible and still is impossible for us to have any meaningfully deep conversation about anything. I don’t know if she is incapable of it or if she just actively avoids it. I guess I will never know; it will always remain a mystery to me.

I told my friend all this. She paused for a while and then looked up at me and said, “Wow. Do you think that some of this frustration is because you never really allowed yourself to mourn the version of her you loved that is gone?”

I didn’t know what to say to this. I suppose I never looked at it this way. It makes sense my friend would hear it this way since she’s a deeply feeling and empathetic person. I guess my friend is partly right: my aunt and I will never have that sweet, simple relationship we had when I was a toddler, kindergartener, or elementary school-age child, where it was easy and always just about baking, having fun shopping and doing playground outings, or enjoying treats together. But as I mentioned here earlier, I am not sure she was ever capable of having a deeper, meaningful relationship with me. So this second part is not a “loss” per se, but more something I wished we could have had that we just never did and never will have.

It reminded me of what my therapist said to me when I was pregnant and due to give birth any day. She told me that I should give myself the time, permission, and grace to mourn the relationship with my mom and dad I wish I could have had, but never got to have and never will have. It’s the same with my aunt: I do wish we had a different, better, and deeper relationship than what we have now. But this will never be. And we just have to work with what we have because c’est la vie.

Summer for the City 2026 – Festival Orchestra of Lincoln Center: A Mother’s Love

Posted on by
Reply

For the last three years, I’ve been able to enjoy at least one pay-what-you-wish performance at the Lincoln Center’s Summer for the City arts series. The performances I’ve seen have ranged from orchestral performances to modern opera, but they’ve all been a little escape from my day to day life and a way to appreciate the arts scene at an affordable price just steps away from my apartment. Whenever I have gone, I feel very lucky that I can walk five minutes to David Geffen Hall and five minutes back. Ever since we moved to this part of the city, I always consider it a privilege that we live so close to a global performing arts space.

Tonight, my friend and I had dinner to celebrate her belated 40th birthday, and to see the Festival Orchestra of Lincoln Center perform “A Mother’s Love,” a series of mother-child inspired orchestral performances. What I had forgotten about and was reminded of was that there was a guest performance by Abel Selaocoe, a famous South African cellist/vocalist tonight. As soon as I heard his voice over the cello, there were goosebumps all along my arms. I could tell my friend was called to attention because her eyes immediately widened, and we were trying to see Abel’s mouth move from our far right seats. He was singing in his native language over his cello, but he also did quite a bit of throat singing, which I am not used to hearing. He used this deep, guttural voice that seemed to bring out more than a single pitch at the same time. It was such a strange and ear-catching thing to be able to listen to in person, and in a performance hall as renowned as David Geffen Hall.

My friend went a little nuts after, especially since she loves to sing and sang with a group at her high school. She could not stop talking about this cellist’s throat singing. And all I could hear was the sound of his voice in my head after. I immediately made a mental note to look this performer up on Spotify and ‘favorite’ his available music so I could listen to it in the background while working.

My friend and I don’t get out at night that often, but this was a great reason to be out. Every time I walk home from these performances, I feel thankful to live in this great, diverse, art-filled city, and to live so freaking close to the Lincoln Center.

I spent 1 hour and 45 minutes commuting this morning in Manhattan

Posted on by
Reply

It is a little strange to think that it’s already been over 6.5 years of 100 percent remote working for me. The pandemic started it at my last job. Then I got laid off, found this job, and miraculously, I am still here! I accepted the role as a remote employee and have never looked back. I had always been in a office five days a week prior, as that was just “normal” back then. But now that I am fully remote, it’s hard to imagine being back in an office five days a week, every single week, especially with a child.

Because Kaia has been in school in Chinatown, I am usually on the subway six days of the week (plus Saturday when we’re out and about). I obviously love having reliable public transit since I hate driving. And I love the New York City subway. But occasionally, I have days like today when I really hate commuting when it’s not by foot — completely. Somehow, it took me over 40 minutes just to get her from our apartment near Lincoln Center to her summer camp in Chinatown. I had to take two trains, then walk about 12 minutes from the stop before her actual stop with her to her school. After that, I got on the 6 train to go up to Park Avenue South and 27th Street for today’s office space; that commute took over an hour because the 4/5/6 trains had some signal malfunction, and every single train was either not moving or moving at worse-than-snail speed. I took the 6, then transferred to a yellow train at 14th Street/Union Square to go up to 28th Street. When I finally got to the office just past 9:40, I realized I had already spent an hour and 45 minutes just commuting today. Just think about this: almost two hours to get from Columbus Circle to Manhattan Chinatown and back up to NoMad. THAT IS MAD.

When the subway is working fine, with no signal malfunctions, no sick passengers, and no idiots who decide to go on the train tracks, the subway is amazing. And when it’s not going great, which affected five of the trains I tried to take today, it’s completely and utterly maddening. And it reinforces my desire to keep working remotely or only consider companies that will allow hybrid work. So much time (AND MONEY) is lost when crap like today happens.

The psychology of parenting

Posted on by
Reply

A friend linked me this podcast, The Psychology of Parenting with Dan Siegel, and said she thought I’d like it. It’s essentially about how parenting isn’t really about the child, but about learning about oneself. I immediately recognized Dan Siegel’s name. About two years ago, I read a book he co-authored called The Whole Brain Child, and I really liked the overall takeaways of the book; it resonated with me at the time because it discussed what I already believed, which is that who we are is shaped by our past and past experience; based on those past experiences, we can improve ourselves for our children. I was even more intrigued when I later found out that Dan Siegel went into this area of research driven by his own mercurial childhood, with a raging father and and an emotionally avoidant mother. He is on a long, never-ending journey to understanding his past, present, and future!

I listened to the podcast in full today. During the podcast, he goes through high level points of what drives healthy child development, which has been summed up (pretty smartly!) as the “4 S’s,” which I still remember from reading his book:

  • Safe: The child feels protected from physical and emotional harm. This includes caregivers avoiding frightening behavior and repairing the relationship after mistakes.
  • Seen: The caregiver looks beneath the child’s behavior and tries to understand their feelings, thoughts, and inner experience.
  • Soothed: When the child is distressed, the caregiver helps them through it. Over time, this repeated “inter-soothing” helps the child learn to soothe themselves.
  • Secure: This develops from consistently feeling safe, seen, and soothed. The child learns, “I can rely on my caregiver, I am worthy of care, and I can handle difficult feelings.” 

His takeaway: the key idea is not perfect parenting, but reliably showing up and repairing when things go wrong. In Siegel’s framework, secure attachment grows from the repeated overall pattern—not from preventing every disappointment, conflict, or tantrum.

What I did not write about two years ago but thought a lot about after reading The Whole Brain Child was how the 4 S’s noted here are a summary of everything Ed lacked. He never felt safe from physical or emotional harm, as my parents repeatedly screamed and yelled at him. My mom used to hit him as a child, sometimes for things that weren’t even “wrong.” My dad would roar like a lion in the house and constantly criticize and name call him. There was never any semblance of “repair”: they’d just go about their day as though nothing happened after. Ed frequently told me he felt invisible to our dad. He’d be right in the room and not hear anything he said. Our dad preferred talking to himself than talking to us. To “understand feelings” of one’s own child is a pretty impossible task when our dad could not even understand his own feelings. Our parents rarely “soothed” us; instead when they saw us down, they’d double down and add more doubt, making us feel even worse. Ed never felt like he could rely on my parents to share anything, so even when he got abused by a teacher in elementary school, my parents didn’t find out about it until after he died, when they went through his belongings and read about it in a college essay he wrote.

The truth is that I don’t really think I experienced any of the four S’s with our parents, either, yet I turned out completely differently. And I still think a huge part of this is because I found mentors in my middle and high school teachers who really looked after me, nurtured me, and made me feel “seen” and truly understood.

We can’t bring Ed back. We can’t change my parents. But we can use all this past history to inform how we move forward, and how I choose to parent Kaia. I hope I am always able to make her feel safe, seen, soothed, and secure. And when I am not, that I am able to be a fucking adult about it and admit my wrongs, apologize, take ownership, and move forward with her.

A question I’ve never been asked before

Posted on by
Reply

“Yvonne, who does your Botox?”

I wrinkled my brow and was completely caught off guard by the question. “Excuse me?” I blurted out. Did I hear this right?

“Who does your Botox?” my friend asked again with a smile on her face.

“Oh, I don’t do Botox!” I said, surprised. Then, I got confused. Does it look like parts of my face don’t move “normally”?! “Why, does it look like I do Botox?”

“No, not at all,” my friend insisted, still smiling and now laughing. “Your skin just looks so good. I thought you did Botox. In fact, doesn’t everyone do Botox?”

I laughed at this and paused. “Actually, I don’t think I have any friends who do Botox,” I replied to her.

She smiled even bigger this time. “Yes, you do. You have me.”

That’s when I was even more shocked. She does Botox?! She doesn’t look like she does it. As I’ve gotten into my mid-30s and am now 40, I can spot Botox on people’s faces pretty quickly. Some people are more obvious than others. But you can usually tell when you look at people who have been doing it for a long time. Their faces just do not move as naturally as they should when they smile or laugh. The tops of the cheeks and the foreheads that never move are usually the dead giveaway. She pointed out the three parts of her forehead where she’s been getting it done over the last year by her doctor friend, who shares a vial of Botox across three friends and splits the cost. I suppose she is an example of someone who does Botox where it actually looks natural.

“Well, if you ever change your mind, (friend’s name) hosts a Botox party about every three months,” my friend said. “And you are always more than welcome to join!”

In general, I’d always been against cosmetic surgery for things like eyelids surgery (UGH), boob jobs (except in the case of breast cancer related breast reconstruction, which frankly I do not consider “cosmetic”), face lifts, and anything related. I just think we have what we have, and we should work with what we have. On the other hand, I’m all for people getting things removed they do not like that really bother them (e.g. moles, sun spots, freckles, permanent body hair removal. Contrary to what Chris thinks, those procedures are not “cosmetic surgery.” They are cosmetic removals). And as we age, in general we should embrace the gift of getting older by taking care of our bodies, which includes our skin and hair. I’m a huge advocate of sun protection/sunscreen. I believe in regular exercise and eating well. And I believe in trying to reduce stressors, which all lead to a healthier and hopefully happier life and health span. And I’ve been pro retinol, vitamin C, and other skin nourishing ingredients forever. But outside of that, I never really considered any cosmetic surgery like Botox, fillers, or the like.

But then when my friend mentioned Botox, it started making me think of actual numbers. And that’s when I asked ChatGPT to give me a breakdown of usage: It shared that about 5 percent of the U.S. population aged 25 and above uses cosmetic Botox. The breakdown is estimated to be: 20% Baby Boomers and older; 39% Generation X; 35% Millennials; 6% Generation Z and younger. So that’s about 12 million people in this country — not a small number.

As I’ve gotten older, while I still do not think any of those cosmetic procedures are right for me (and more so, I absolutely am not willing to pay any of those prices out of pocket!), I’ve relaxed my general stance on them. At the end of the day, people have to do what they are comfortable with, and if they have the time and money to spend on these procedures, and they make them feel good about themselves, then all power to them. Plus for women especially, the beauty and “youth” standards are so stupid, senseless, and unrealistic that I totally understand why some women would just default to Botox, fillers, etc., once they get to a certain age, assuming they have a certain level of means. Yes, even today, the ageism against women continues to be that worse versus for men. So much for the equaling of the damn sexes.

Conversations about death with a 4-year-old

Posted on by
Reply

In the last couple months, Kaia has been asking questions that dance around death, but are not quite about death. It usually comes up in the context of bees or animals dying. She sees bugs get squashed all the time and knows that means they are dead. She sees her teachers stepping on lantern flies and their guts spraying everywhere. She has also noticed road kill a few times. In the last week or so, she’s asked about where my gonggong/popo/yeye/nainai (grandparents) are and why we cannot see them, or why she hasn’t met them. Then the anniversary of Ed’s passing came this past Wednesday, she started asking me more pressing questions about him, indicating that she’s really thinking through all this quite thoughtfully for her age.

“Why did he have to die?” she asked me.

“Well, Jiujiu got very, very sick, so sick that he just couldn’t live anymore,” I explained, in the lightest way possible. Then, I immediately dreaded that she might worry that if she catches a cold that she would then die. And… oh dear, that’s exactly where it went.

“Does that mean that if I get sick that I could die, too?” Kaia asked me with wide, worried eyes. Great. I am clearly terrible at this.

“No, baby, not at all!” I quickly tried to reassure her. “You see, we all get a little sick sometimes. Sometimes, we get a cold or a flu or a stuffy nose. But our bodies are strong, and we fight it off and we get better. Jiujiu’s situation was a lot, lot different than this. His body was sick for a very long time, and then his body couldn’t work anymore.”

She gave me her side-eyed head tilt again. Then, she buried her head and cried, “I don’t want to die!”

“Pookie, there’s no reason for you to worry about dying,” I held her close when I said this. “You are super strong and healthy, and you are going to grow up and hopefully have a long, healthy life. You have so much to do in this great life you have! Eventually, we will all die, but hopefully, that will be when we are very, very old, very far from now.”

Kaia paused. Then she looked up at me again with eyes of terror. “I don’t want mommy to die! I don’t want you to die, mama!” At this point, there were fat tears rolling down her face. It felt like I was getting worse as this was progressing.

“Oh, Pookster,” I said to her. “Mama is quite strong and healthy now. I tell you this every day, don’t I, that every day, Daddy and Mama take care of you, protect you, and love you. And so, hopefully, I will live for a very, very long time. So there’s no need to worry about mama dying now or anytime soon. I live to take care of you and protect you and love you, and you give me a reason to live and love. Do you understand? I love you.”

After a long pause, she seemed to be satisfied by this response. Phew. She snuggled closer to me and said she loved me. Then, she asked if we could build her little plane tomorrow. I said yes.

I always have to remind myself when having conversations with her that kids of her age take everything very literally. Her mind and body are growing by leaps and bounds. And the conversations will keep getting deeper and more complex. And I just need to stay ahead of it and be careful with every word I share with her. The last thing I want her to do is worry every day or night that Chris or I will die, or that she will die, or that she will be alone. She is definitely a feeling child, my feeling baby.

13 years.

Posted on by
Reply

Dearest Ed,

Today marks 13 years since you died. It’s strange to think that it’s actually been that long. But every year when we reach this anniversary, I also think that it feels like just yesterday. They say that when you love someone deeply and were truly connected to them, a part of them continues to live on within you — in the way you speak, hear, listen, see. Maybe that’s why sometimes when I think of you now, my initial feeling is not always of sadness, but rather of a strange joy — a joy that can only be felt and known if you genuinely loved someone to the core. Although I could not always have the types of conversation I wished I could have with you given your struggles, I always knew that you loved me deeply. That’s why it’s painful to remember that you’re no longer here.

For the very first time at the age of 4.5, Kaia has been able to have a real conversation about you with me. I was telling her that today was the anniversary of your passing. She didn’t quite understand what that meant, but I told her that thirteen years ago today, you “passed from the earth” in Chinese. That’s the polite way of saying that someone “passed away” or died in Chinese. She’s been asking more about death lately — about our Nainai dying, about bugs and lantern flies dying. So she understood what I said what I conveyed this to her.

“He died today…. 13 years ago?” she asked me in a whisper today. “That means he’s not here anymore?”

I told her this was true. She responded, “I’ve never seen Jiujiu. I only get to see him in pictures. Is this why?”

My heart ached when she asked me this. I could feel my eyes welling up. These are important things for her to know and understand. I just wasn’t quite expecting this at this moment.

“Why did he die?” she asked me. “What happened?”

The full, unvarnished truth isn’t quite preschooler-friendly. One day, she will learn the full story, but not now… not for a while. For now, I told her that her Jiujiu was sick, and he didn’t get the help he needed, and so he passed.

“Where is he now?” she asked me. She had a deep look of concern in her eyes.

“He’s up there, watching over us every day,” I said while motioning towards the sky. I may not fully believe in God, but given you are a Christian, I might as well tell Kaia something that he believed. “He watches over us, protects us, and loves us. Do you know how much he loves you? Jiujiu would have loved to have met you!”

She nodded her head. “Does that mean he can fly… the way birds do?” Kaia asked me.

“Maybe,” I tentatively replied to her. “Just maybe.”

“But I don’t want to die! I don’t want to get sick and die!” she moaned.

Oh, dear. This was going down not-great territory. I told her that Jiujiu’s situation was a lot different. Not everyone just gets sick and dies. It’s a lot more complicated than that. I told her that she will (hopefully) live a very, very, very long life, and she won’t have to worry about dying for a long, long time. I told her that we’d protect her and take care of her as long as we could.

This seemed to calm her. She snuggled up against me and asked for more cuddles.

I wish a lot of things were true. I wish that you were still here, that you were healthy, of sound mind and body. I wish that you could have a relationship with your niece. I wish she could know you in the flesh and not just see you in photos. But now, the most I can ask for is that I hope you are at peace. I still think of you every day, many times multiple times a day. And while others may have forgotten or try to forget you, I will never forget you. I hope to honor your legacy in my life, and through raising Kaia as best as I can. I hope you approve of how I’ve done so far.

I love you. And I miss you every day. I hope you know that. We had soy sauce chicken to remember you today. I picked it up right before I picked Kaia up from summer camp. She asked me why I got soy sauce chicken, and I told her it’s because Jiujiu liked it. And today, we remember him. Do they make that up where you are? If not, feel free to sneak a bite from the fridge if you feel like coming down. I promise I won’t get mad.

With all my love,

Yvonne (& Kaia & Chris)